


Second Chance

by WandererRiha



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Chronic Illness, Gen, Gift Fic, Grumpy Old Men, M/M, mako poisoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28056033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandererRiha/pseuds/WandererRiha
Summary: Twist on the “Back of the Mirror” AU where Veld and Vincent (and by association Elfe and Sephiroth) trade places in the FF7 storyline.
Relationships: Vincent Valentine/Veld
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6
Collections: 2020 FF7 Secret Santa





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [j_marquis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_marquis/gifts).



> Prompt:  
> I am game for any group of these three in shipping.  
> Scenario: Veld somehow survived everything and is stuck physically in his mid forties. Reeve recruits him to help rebuild after the Meteor, and Deepground, and everything. Veld does not know Vincent survived, or that he is there, until Vincent shows up to also help. Emotions ensue.

After Meteor, Veld hung around primarily because he had nowhere else to go. Cloud and Tifa and Barret had the children to look after. Yuffie and Nanaki returned home. That left Cid and himself to return to what was left of Midgar, of Shinra, and try to pick up the pieces. Cid soon took off. Literally. His skills as a pilot were too badly needed. Veld stayed behind with the vague hope of finding pieces to fit into the scattered jigsaw puzzle of his own life. Despite the kids’ best attempts to fill him in, Veld still only had half an idea of what had happened while he was locked away in the Shinra mansion crypt.

Against all odds, but not against reason, Reeve had stepped into the void left by the Shinra family. Rufus was alive, if not kicking, and in no shape to govern. Veld knew nothing about the kid; he’d been born during that empty gap between being sent to Nibelheim and Avalanche lifting the lid of his coffin. Veld supposed it didn’t matter. Pretty much everyone the world over had had enough of Shinra in all forms.

“Please,” Reeve had begged, his ridiculous robot cat snuggled in his arms like a baby. “We could use someone with your skill set.”

“You need a zombie with summon materia for a heart and a force of nature in their head?”

“I meant a former Turk,” Reeve clarified, “but that’s good too.”

Veld allowed himself a smirk and a brief snort of laughter. “Why d’you need another Turk? All my intel is thirty years out of date. What use could I possibly be?”

“You’re fully trained,” a voice said just behind him. Veld blinked and turned. It wasn’t easy to sneak up on him these days.

“This is Tseng,” Reeve said by way of an introduction. “Chief of the Turks.”

“Sir,” Tseng offered a hand to shake. Veld looked at it for a moment and took it. “I’ve heard great things about you.”

“From who?” Veld was genuinely curious.

“Chief Valentine.”

The name hit him between the eyes, reverberating inside his head as if he’d been pistol-whipped. He had very deliberately not thought about Vincent Valentine since rejoining the waking world. Everything that had been shoved to the very back of his mind came cascading to the front; a mudslide of memories and emotions threatening to smother him then and there.

“Sir?”

Veld shook himself, clawed his way above the sucking muck of emotional sludge left to fester and rot.

“Sorry. Been a while since I heard that name.”

“I understand the two of you were partners.”

Partners. Sure. Let’s call it that.

“That’s right.” Veld was tempted to ask what had become of him; had to swallow back the question like bile.

“It would be a privilege to work with you, Sir. If you’re amenable?”

“Like I said to Reeve, everything I know is thirty years past its expiration date. I’m not sure how much help I would be.”

“With respect, Sir, we need all the help we can get.”

Three more kids had come to stand behind Tseng, a red-head who looked as if he had slept in his suit, a huge guy with Costan style piercings and sunglasses, and a little blond girl who looked too young to be wearing Turk blue. Then again, how old had he and Valentine been when they were recruited? These kids were older now than he and Vincent had been then.

“Don’t you got a whole department at your disposal?”

“Yes, Sir.” Tseng stepped back, gestured at the three kids.

_Wait._

“Is this it?”

“Yes.”

Veld stared at them. The Department of Administrative Research had never been large, but for there to only be four left. _Four._ Veld had never considered himself to be sentimental; had only gotten more hard boiled as things got worse. But _four_. Four kids. All of them younger than he’d been when this mess had gotten started.

Well, a fair percentage of said mess had been his fault. Only fair he help try to clean it up. That’s what all the running around with Avalanche had been for, after all.

“Alright, Chief. What’s the plan?”

\--

The plan mostly involved digging- sometimes literally- through what was left of Shinra’s records. Veld wasn’t much good with anything on a computer, but his historic knowledge was proving more useful than he’d thought it would. The primary concern was anything that might be useful for the disease that had recently cropped up, something called ‘Geostigma’. Veld has his own theories but kept them to himself. Wasn’t any good shooting his mouth off before he had solid evidence.

From what they could determine, the problem had to do with Jenova, and possibly mako, which didn’t narrow it down all that much. The whole city- Midgar and Edge both- were awash in fallout from Meteorfall and the subsequent destruction of the Shinra tower and everything else in a twelve block radius. The best doctors were all local, but that didn’t mean they knew what they were doing, or that most folks could afford treatment.

“Mako seems to help stave it off,” Tseng mused, trying to parse yet another report scavenged from the Science Department’s files.

“Makes sense,” Veld replied, buried in his own stack of papers. “Jenova feeds on mako. If folks aren’t getting regular mako exposure in some form, the Jenova’s gonna start tearing their bodies apart.”

“Even if we could arrange for mako treatments for all of Edge, it would only be a stop-gap measure at best.”

“Right. It’d buy us time, but it’s not a cure. It might even make things worse. Look at all the SOLDIER clones and copies. Not that any of these folks have the training or skill of a SOLDIER, but you get the idea. Don’t want some Elfe wanna-be running amok.”

Tseng’s mouth had become a thin line, lips pressed together and brow creased in thought. “No,” he agreed, wheels visibly turning in his head. “Though we do have at least one control subject.”

“Control subject?” Veld echoed. Looking up brought him eye to uncertain eye with Tseng.

“There’s a lot of contaminated mako circulating on the black market,” Tseng said, snapping the tension of the moment like a thread, professional apathy back in place once more. “I’d like you to investigate.”

“Okay...” Veld drawled. There was clearly more to it than that, but the subject, evidently, was closed.

\--

There was indeed a lot of contaminated mako making the rounds via less than legal channels. Some of it was simply polluted, some was mixed with dark mako, and some was a toxic cocktail of chemicals that would have worked better as drain cleaner. There were two, maybe three vendors- obviously former Shinra- who were dealing the real thing. Veld focused on them, not to shut them down, but to question them later, maybe convince them to step into the light and serve the public good or whatever Reeve had said in his last speech.

Veld kept to the shadows, hanging back, just another sketchy character lost among many. A flash of black above the rest of the crowd caught his attention. Doing his best not to stare outright, Veld tracked it with his eyes. Few people in Edge- few people period- were that tall. Veld eyed the lanky figure, taking in the long duster coat, the red scarf, the dark hair and eyes hidden under a hat with the brim pulled low. The guy came up to the counter of the mako vendor, exchanged gil for a small bag which he spirited into the depths of his coat, turned and left.

Rather than stay to chat with the mako vendor as originally intended, Veld followed the tall guy through the back allies of Edge to a basement apartment. There were, Veld noted, an unusual number of locks on the front door. The guy wanted to keep something out, or possibly something in. Veld was unperturbed. What were locks to a Turk? Especially one with a summon materia for a heart. Veld eased off on the conscious effort it took to hold himself together and ghosted through brick and metal in a blur of red and black.

The smell hit him like a slap in the face, countless scars stinging with the memory of scalpel and needles and _pain_. Veld breathed deep, inhaling more of the antiseptic stench. Chlorine, vinegar, and under it all the sickly-sweet rot of death. Someone here was ill. Not the guy he was tailing, he would have noticed it earlier. The man’s hat and coat hung on a hook just inside the door. Stepping softly, Veld ventured deeper into the house.

Shabby living area, tiny kitchen, a cramped bathroom that reeked of bleach. On the right was a small bedroom with a rumpled bed that had not been turned down but had clearly been slept on. To the left was a larger bedroom, low voices coming from the half-open door.

“Just hold still. It’ll be better in a minute.”

Veld froze. He knew that voice. It was deeper, rougher, but unmistakably…

_Valentine…_

Vincent sat on the edge of a bed surrounded by scavenged medical equipment; an IV pole, a bedpan, kidney basins, rolls of bandages and antiseptic. There was also a small tray of hypodermics.

“Dad…” the voice was similar to Vincent’s, but not quite the same. Not as deep, not as gruff, but every bit as tired.

“It’s okay, son. It’s okay. Just rest.”

 _Son..._ Little Seth. Not so little anymore, from the looks of it. Veld had almost forgotten Vincent had had a son. Kid had been all of three the last time Veld had seen him. The body on the bed was as long and lean as Vincent himself. The hair was wrong, however. Long and honey-brown like Lucrecia’s, but streaked with gray even though the kid couldn’t be thirty yet. The arm in Vincent’s hands had been well-muscled once, but was almost visibly melting away, muddied with black lesions half-concealed by dirty bandages. It didn’t look thick enough for the syringe Vincent gently withdrew and set aside.

“No…”

Sunken green eyes peered past Vincent’s hunched shoulders. Seth had spotted him. Vincent turned to look over his shoulder. Abruptly, Veld found himself staring down the barrel of a Turk-issue Quicksilver. This was only fair since Veld had automatically reached for his own sidearm. The two men stood poised, barrels raised to the other’s temple.

“Veld…?” Vincent breathed, eyes wide.

Veld lowered his arm, holstered his gun. Even if Vincent shot him point-blank, it would do no lasting damage. Besides, he deserved it. Vincent’s gun dropped a few degrees to point at Veld’s heart instead of his face.

“Is it really you?”

“It’s me.”

Vincent put the gun away, stood and stared for a solid minute. “I thought you were dead.”

“Takes more than a gunshot wound to kill me.”

Tears were pooling in Vincent’s eyes though they did not fall. “I thought I’d killed you.”

Taking pity on him, Veld held out a hand for Vincent to take. He was willing to forgive and forget if Vincent was. Vincent, ever dramatic, threw his arms around Veld and hugged him tight. Veld stumbled where he stood at the impact, flailing lost until muscle memory kicked in and he pulled Vincent close in a rusty hug.

“Nah,” Veld said quietly, patting his back with his good hand. “Can’t get rid of me that easy.”

\--

Seth - Sephiroth, he called himself these days- had passed out from a mako high shortly thereafter. They’d explain things to him once they’d sorted out what the hell had happened themselves. Vincent closed the bedroom door and led Veld out into the living room. To Veld’s eye, it looked cozy, though anyone else would have thought it atrociously dated. The pea-green sofa sagged perilously when he sat down. Vincent went to a cabinet in the kitchen and fetched down a bottle of whiskey and two mismatched glasses.

“I saw the news reports,” Vincent began, pouring out a measure for each of them. “It looked like you, but I wasn’t sure. Even Tseng couldn’t tell me. I thought you’d died out in the mountains.”

“I did,” Veld told him, accepting a glass.

Vincent looked at him funny and tossed back a mouthful of whiskey. “But you’re here.”

“Yeah. Felicia fixed me up. Sort of. I couldn’t return the favor, though.”

Vincent nodded, rolling his glass between his hands. “You must hate me.”

“No.”

Vincent looked up, eyes threatening to spill over at last.

“You had a family to look after. I get it. You did the honorable thing.”

“It was an accident, Veld. A mistake. And we… You… I was…” Vincent pushed a hand through his hair, now peppered with gray.

Reaching, Veld rested a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. Vincent squeezed his eyes shut, tears cutting identical streaks down his cheeks.

“I’m not angry. Can’t hold a grudge over the same dumb mistake I made myself.”

Vincent looked up, confused.

“Elfe was mine.”

“Shit…” Vincent breathed. “Veld, I’m sorry…”

Veld shook his head. “Don’t be. It...it wasn’t her. Not really. It was Jenova piloting some other poor gal’s body. Elfe died in Nibelheim, just like me. It was only her ghost we were fighting. Shinra’d killed her years ago.”

Vincent glanced back toward the bedroom. “Shinra’s killing Seth too.”

“Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

Vincent heaved a sigh that seemed to take every last scrap of energy and downed the rest of his whiskey. “Same thing as everyone else, except he hasn’t got any Jenova. He’s got a summon materia. And it’s killing him.”

So that’s what Tseng had meant by ‘control subject’.

“He needs four support materia but they were all lost when...well...it’s a long story. All I can do now is keep him comfortable. I owe him that much. I didn’t look after him as a child, so I’m doing it now.”

“How much time does he have?”

Vincent shook his head miserably. “I don’t know. Weeks? Months? I don’t think he can last much longer. Half the time he doesn’t know who I am. Every doctor I’ve taken him to tells me the same thing: keep him comfortable, try to manage the pain, there’s nothing else to do.”

“You said he needed support materia,” Veld prompted.

“Yeah. He had them briefly but we lost them.”

“Where?”

“Corel. Gods know where they are now. Probably lost down a mine shaft. I would have gone looking myself but he went downhill so quickly…”

Veld stood. “I’ll find them.”

“I...what?” Vincent stared at him.

“I’ll find them,” Veld repeated. “Chaos should be able to sniff them out easy. I’ll find them and bring them back. I couldn’t save Elfe, hell if I’m gonna let you lose a child as well.”

“Veld…” Vincent stood, shaky, and wrapped his arms around him.

Ready for it this time, Veld hugged him back. What he wasn’t ready for was Vincent’s lips pressed against his.

“Thank you,” Vincent whispered, leaning his forehead against Veld’s once they’d broken apart. “Thank you…”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Veld told him, but couldn’t help the smile creeping up on him. Something he’d long thought dead had stirred to life inside him; small and fragile as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings.

“Thank you for coming back.”

Veld turned his smile toward Vincent. “Like you could keep me away.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It got sad.  
> Sorry.

The evening had been sweet, sweeter than anything Veld had experienced in a long, long time. He filed it away with the handful of recent memories he’d collected: Tifa’s gentle smile, Yuffie’s laughter, Cid’s hand on his shoulder, a muttered word of bewildered thanks from Cloud. All his friends had given him something that could not be recorded or captured on film. Now the gods had seen fit to give Vincent back, perhaps as a thank you for saving the world. Veld was not so trusting as to think this was truly a reward. Everything, even gifts, had strings attached. Veld simply had yet to discover what was tied up in this one. Still, he wasn’t going to look this gift chocobo in the mouth. He had Vincent again. It was more than he had ever dared to hope for. 

Vincent sat slumped against him, not drunk so much as exhausted. Looking after his son had to be a full-time job. Gaia knew how he was paying for the mako, the apartment, everything. Vincent jerked awake as his head nodded lower.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing at his face with one hand. “I should go check on Seth.”

“When’s the last time you slept?”

Vincent shrugged. “I sleep when he sleeps. A mako injection usually knocks him out well into the next morning. He’ll be relatively pain-free until it starts to wear off again.”

“How long does that take?”

“A week? Five days? Sometimes more, sometimes less.”

“Shit, Vin,” Veld breathed. “You got anyone to help you?”

Vincet shook his head. “Like who? He’s still wanted. Anyone I bring in would turn him in. Besides, he doesn’t trust strangers.”

“You could take him to Healen,” Veld suggested.

“I don’t have that kind of money. He’s… He’s not…” Vincent choked, swallowed hard, blinked suddenly wet eyes. “He doesn’t have a lot of time left.”

Veld snugged the arm he had around Vincent’s shoulders a bit closer. “He’s not gone yet. Why don’t you go lie down for a couple hours?”

“But Seth--”

“I’ll watch him,” Veld promised. “Can’t take care of him if you don’t take care of yourself.”

Vincent hugged him. “Thanks.”

Veld returned it. “Any time.”

\--

After installing Vincent in the spare room- under the covers and out of his suit- Veld pulled up a chair in Seth- Sephiroth’s- room.

The kid could pass for a corpse as he was. Vincent had him hooked to an IV drip- probably saline and pain meds- oxygen, and possibly a catheter if the lump under the blankets was any indication. He must have been strong at one point, but had wasted to nothing. Veld could almost make out individual ribs beneath the kid’s t-shirt. All that was left of his left arm was a spindly appendage wrapped in muddy bandages. Weirdly, it didn’t stink of decay. Instead, the stench of sour mako competed with the powerful astringent of antiseptic.

“ _Chaos._ ”

Veld started. The kid stared at him, sunken eyes glowing an eerie mako green in the dim room. 

“You’ve got the Chaos materia.”

Sephiroth’s voice was still low and rough, but lacking the earlier strain caused by pain and exhaustion.

“Yeah.”

Sephiroth closed his eyes and nodded. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“Ready?” Veld was perplexed.

“To return to the Planet.”

Oh. Well. This was awkward.

“I’m not here to kill you.”

The kid’s expression fell, honest-to-gods disappointment deepening every premature line that creased his young face.

“Why are you here then?”

“To help you. Help your dad.”

“Oh.”

The word was hollow, emotionless. Sephiroth sank back on the pillows and looked away. For a moment, Veld thought he had fallen asleep again.

“Why?”

“Your dad and I were friends back in the day. Doubt you remember me, but I knew you as a small kid. It’s the least I can do.”

“I know who you are. You still look the same. Unless you’re his son.”

“Who’s son?”

“Uncle Veld.”

“No, that’s me. Hojo did some weird shit to me. I’m the same age as your dad, I just don’t look like it.”

Sephiroth snorted a small laugh. “I know how that goes. Hojo doing weird shit, I mean. He’s the one who gave me Zirconiade.”

The bandaged arm twitched, the stone embedded in his hand catching the light.

“You know, he kept talking about you. Never forgave himself.”

“That so?”

“Yeah.”

Veld had to think about that for a bit. First the four surviving Turks and now this. Seemed he had more reasons to stay than he’d thought.

“Stay with him, okay?”

Veld blinked. “What?”

“Dad. Stay with him. He missed you. He’ll need someone after I’m gone.”

Veld opened his mouth to protest, to tell Sephiroth about his plan to recover the support materia, the the look in the kid’s eyes told him all he needed to know. Rather than argue, Veld closed his mouth without saying anything.

“Okay,” he promised. “What can I do?”

“You wanna help?” Sephiroth asked, challenge in those too-green eyes. “Take this thing off me.” He nodded to his blackened arm.

“Won’t you die without the materia?”

“I’ll die either way. If you take it, it’ll be quick. This...this isn’t doing anything for either of us. I know he thinks he has to take care of me, but he doesn’t.”

“You’re his son.”

“He doesn’t know me. I barely remember him. I get that he feels guilty, but...this is just making it worse.”

Veld rose from his chair, came over to perch on the edge of the bed. Sephiroth- Seth- Vincent’s son- Lucrecia’s baby- looked up at him with pleading eyes. He looked like Lu; had her wider eyes, her rounder face, her chestnut hair.

“There’s nothing to gain by dragging this out. I’m going to die. I know that. I’m fine with it. Avalanche did what it set out to do. My role in things is done.”

“There’s nothing else you want to do? Want to see?” Veld pressed. “Anyone you want to say goodbye to?”

Sephiroth shook his head, the movement taking far too much effort. “All my friends are dead. I have no family. _Please._ I’m _tired._ It _hurts._ ”

“Alright, son.” Veld reached, took the bandaged hand in his. The bones felt too soft; threatening to bend, then break if subject to too much pressure. Beneath lay the hard crystal of the Zirconiade materia. “If that’s what you want.”

Sephiroth smirked, eyes closed, face placid. “I’m not your son.”

“No,” Veld agreed. “You’re not.”

Gods above and below, Vincent was going to kill him. Or rather, he would if ever he found out. Closing both hands around the boy’s, Veld gently pulled the materia free. The change was instantaneous. Sephirot’s breath left him in a shallow huff, pain-tensed muscles falling limp, his head lolling to one side on the pillow. The arm that had held the materia melted away into a puddle of oily black sludge, leaving an oozing wound in his shoulder.

Veld had heard the dead described as sleeping, or peaceful. Sephiroth looked...content. Satisfied. Mission complete, job well done. Veld fought back the urge to salute him. Instead, he stood and muttered a brief mantra over the body. Sephiroth was not a Turk, but he was the child of one, and that was good enough.

Speaking of Turks, how was he going to explain this to Vincent? He should probably wake him before Sephiroth’s body evaporated into pyreflies. Vincent would want the chance to say goodbye. With no other thought than that, Veld entered Vincent’s bedroom and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Vince?”

Vincent shot upright, wide awake, gun poised in one hand.

“Oh. It’s you.” He lowered the gun but did not relax. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

Extending his hand, Veld offered him the Zirconiade materia. “It came out. I’m sorry, Vincent.”

Vincent took it and stared at it stupidly for a moment before rising slowly from the bed and walking to the other room. There was no need to hurry. He’d been dreading this moment ever since he’d been reunited with his son.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Vincent smoothed Seth’s hair from his face, touched his cheek, kissed his forehead. Leaning, he put his arms around him and held him close until his body disappeared in a puff of golden dust. Veld had expected an anguished sob, a flood of tears, but Vincent just lay there utterly silent, clutching the bedclothes. Beyond pain, beyond grief, he could not speak or even move. Not knowing what else to do, Veld lay down next to him and put his arms around him. Vincent let go of the blankets and latched onto Veld’s arm with both hands. They lay like that, silent, until the sun rose.


End file.
